


No one to blame

by snowysteps



Category: A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Genre: Angst, Finny isn't dead, M/M, Slow Burn, after the trial, one-sided Brinker/Gene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowysteps/pseuds/snowysteps
Summary: Gene is feeling increasingly guilty about the tree incident. And it's going to get him in some serious trouble.





	No one to blame

Gene POV

I can’t sleep anymore.

Usually, that’s the case nowadays, but I think it’s gotten serious because I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep _ever._ And yes, I know that’s impossible. But the idea keeps ringing so true in my head.

I turn onto my side, hearing the way it makes my bed squeak loudly. Grimacing, I look over at the boy sleeping on the bed opposite of mine. He’s one of the reasons I can’t sleep, or maybe he’s all the reasons I can’t sleep. I haven’t decided yet.

He’s not moving and his breaths still sound even, so I figure that I didn’t wake him. That’s good. He can’t sleep sometimes either. And I think that he deserves his rest.

I realize that I’ve been looking at him longer than necessary, but I still can’t bring myself to stop so I study him further. It’s easy to do when he’s sleeping because he can’t frown at me and turn his head away. But I can’t even see him that well. It’s dark and the moon is in one of its waning crescent phases, so it’s really not all that helpful. I can only see a dark outline of a boy buried underneath his bed sheets.

I mouth his name, _Phineas_ , before I realize what I’m doing. And then I’m left to wonder why.

However, I don’t wonder too long. I carefully get up from my bed, pass Phineas sleeping in his bed, and slowly make my way out the door. Once I’m out in the hallway, I take a deep breath before knocking on the door across from my room.

Immediately, there’s a brief sound of ruffling sheets followed by the undeniable sound of footsteps. I back away from the door as it suddenly swings open, revealing a groggy-looking Brinker. He doesn’t say anything, just yawns and moves aside to let me in. It’s not the first time that I’ve woken him up in the middle of the night.

I try my best to make my footsteps soft as I cross over to the corner of the room near the fireplace, glancing at Brownie Perkins as I do. He’s snoring away in his bed, so I don’t feel too bad about intruding. Not that Brownie really complains about my late night visits. Well, he did once, but Brinker told him to “shut the hell up” and Brownie never bothered me again.

Meanwhile, Brinker has managed to light up the fireplace, which makes me think that he must have night vision or something because how could see a damned thing in this darkness? Then again, who cares? There’s a steady glow of warm light now, and it’s comforting. That’s one thing I like about Brinker’s room: it’s one of the only rooms in the dormitory with a fireplace. Besides the house master, that is.

Brinker sits down in front of the fire, gesturing for me to follow suit. I do, letting my back rest against the wall as I pull my legs up to my chin. I’m wearing an ugly pair of plaid flannels that my aunt had gotten me for my birthday, and I pick at a loose thread by my ankle.

“So lemme guess,” Brinker starts after an uncomfortably long while. “It’s something to do with Finny.”

I flinch at the casual use of his name. “Phineas,” I correct him.

“Same difference,” Brinker says. But it’s not. _Finny_ is someone who used to consider me a friend. And there’s no doubt that whatever friendship we had went up flames the day he told me to get out of his hospital room, screaming about me coming to break something else within him. And I did. I’m sure I did, but it wasn’t something physical. It was something emotional. His trust, probably. I never went back after that. Sometimes I have nightmares where he doesn’t ever come back from that hospital at all.

Brinker pulls something out of his pocket. It’s a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?” he asks. I shake my head, and he shrugs before taking one and putting the rest away. He lights his cigarette by sticking one end of it into the flames of the fireplace, like he always does.

It’s silent again, aside from the sound of the wood crackling as it burns and Brownie snoring. It takes a second for me to realize that Brinker is staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

“I can’t sleep,” I finally tell him, raking my fingers through my hair.

Brinker snorts. “No shit. But why? You never tell me why.” That’s true. When I come over in the night, we usually just talk about school or have a smoke and don’t say anything. Maybe, I should explain it to him. I know that it’s unfair for me to constantly bother Brinker like this without him even knowing why.

But then again, I think he already knows. He just wants to hear me say it out loud.

“You never said if I was right. Is this about Fin—Phineas?” Brinker prods. He has a look in his eyes. An annoying look that says _tell me tell me._ I don’t really want to, but then again it might just be high time that I _do_ talk about it before I lose my mind completely.

“Yes,” I mutter. My head is hanging low, and I suddenly feel dizzy. “God, I…”

I dare to sneak a glimpse up at Brinker and see that he has a sad look on his face, and a moment later I realize that it’s because he feels sorry for me. Because I’m obviously crazy. I can’t even form sentences. Or sleep.

Still, Brinker’s got me talking. And now the suppressed words all rush out of me like a flood.

“I’m so fucked up,” I say desperately, as if I’m about to drown and it's to be the last thing I confess. “I could’ve killed him, you know? Out on that tree. And it was all because I was jealous of him. Because I wanted to _be_ him. And I was willing to kill him, so that I could take his place. How fucked up, right? Someone should kill _me_.”

Somewhere in the middle of my outburst, I had begun crying and I hastily attempt to subside the sound of my sobs with the back of my hand. Brownie is sleeping after all. And why should I be crying? I’m not the victim. I’m the perpetrator oddly suffocating in his own guilt, which doesn’t make any sense. I did this, and I should be able to live with it.

Suddenly, I feel arms around me. And then I hear Brinker’s voice. “ _God_ , Gene. Don’t talk that way. No one should kill you. Why are you thinking like that?”

Harshly, I push Brinker away. I’m quickly all too angry to even care that he looks hurt. “No, stop it!” I hiss at him. “You know that I deserve it! Why the hell else would you set up that stupid court trial for me?”

Brinker stops his next sentence, his eyebrows narrowing thoughtfully for a while before he clears his throat. “It was wrong of me to do that. I—I don’t know why I did that.” I stare at him for a long time before I decide that he’s been sincere, and then I’m left feeling even more conflicted. Tentatively, Brinker’s hand settles on my shoulder. It’s warm. I don’t push him away this time.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, my voice thick with shame. Brinker must pick up on this because his thumb begins rubbing comforting circles along my shoulder in what I assume must be in an attempt to get me to relax. And it sort of works, being that my body loses some of its tension and I begin to breathe in more evenly. But then something strange happens.

Brinker starts leaning in closer, his eyes fluttering shut. And after a moment's hesitation his lips touch mine. And suddenly, I become a statue. A peculiar statue with wide eyes and a small frown. Brinker doesn’t seem to realize this at first, being that he continues on with his kiss that’s not harsh or gentle, humming against my mouth. But then he does pull away, unluckily taking on my strange expression at full force.

“Gene?” Brinker asks warily. He looks concerned, and so very sorry. I am, too.

I get up in a haste, muttering a short “thanks, I’ll let you sleep now” before plunging out the door and into the hallway.

I’m just about to turn the door knob to my own room when I hear Phineas’ voice. He’s screaming and mumbling things I don’t understand. It’s not so loud, but if someone doesn’t calm him down soon he might wake the whole floor. His nightmares have never gotten that bad before. Phineas always manages to wake up on his own before it gets to that point. But there’s a first time for everything.

I sense someone behind me and sure enough Brinker is there, worry clear on his expression. He’s looking at my door.

“Take care of him, please,” I tell him. And then I run down the hall and keep running until I’m out of the dormitory and away from the school. I don’t really know where I’m going. It’s more like my mind has shut off, and my body’s taken control.

A while later I find myself in the clearing of a small forest. I’m so tired that I collapse against a tree, sinking to my knees. There is a river to my side. I know this because I can hear the steady stream of water dribbling. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness by this point, and I realize it’s _our_ river and that I’m leaning against _our_ tree. I’m at the place where all my troubles began. And a few feet to my right, I’m sure, is the location where Phineas’ body smashed into the ground.

I remember the way he looked that day. Unnatural and still. He could have easily died. And for a split second, I see him there. But I know he’s not. Phineas is back in the dormitory. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. But I _see_ him there. He’s dead, face down on the ground, and his leg is covered in crimson gloss. And I think I start crying again.

My hands are curling into the moist dirt, trying to get a hold of reality, but I can’t seem to. And I feel myself slipping, dangerously, but why does it matter? I’m alone, with no one to trouble. I don’t need to hold on. So I don’t.

Somewhere, Phineas is screaming. And I scream, too.

***

I’m stepping out of my Trigonometry class when Brinker suddenly stops me outside. My protesting is useless as he drags me out into the courtyard and then behind a building, somewhere away from the crowds I suppose.

When he finally does let go of me, I pretend to fuss over my shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles he caused. Because I don’t want to look at him yet. I actually haven’t talked to him for a week, specifically since the night I had my breakdown in the forest. Not the he needs to know that. But that’s probably something he does want to know.

“Hello,” I say flatly.

“Gene, look at me,” Brinker demands.

So I do. “Happy?”

Brinker rolls his eyes. I’ve never seen him do that before. It’s strange. I’m used to him always appearing so composed. “No, I’m not. I’m worried. You haven’t talked to me in a while and I can tell your nightmares haven’t stopped. You have dark circles underneath your eyes.”

Brinker then takes a step closer, bending down until his face is level with mine, as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “And I heard you passed out during second period, as in on the _floor_. What was that about? ”

I shake my head, trying to dismiss his comment. “I’m fine. How was Phineas?” I say, mostly meaning it but also in attempt to divert his attention from me. “Remember. The night I left, how was he?”

“I managed to wake him quickly, but he was real shaken up after. He has nightmares like you.”

“I know.” I make a gesture for him to go on.

“Then he noticed that you weren’t in bed and asked me where you were. I said I didn’t know,” Brinker explained.

“Oh,” I say dumbly.

“Where were you?”

I see no point in keeping it from him, as long as I leave out some parts. “I ran to the forest. I needed to clear my head, you know. And then I was so tired that I fell asleep there.”

Brinker has a thoughtful expression on, almost as if he is fully trying to dissect my words. I pray that he leaves it at that. I don’t have enough energy or imagination to give out details.

But if he does ask, I’ll feign nausea, which may not actually be too much of a lie. I _did_ hit my head today during second period. I just haven’t been sleeping right and fell asleep in class, apparently sliding off the desk and hitting the floor during the process. Mr. James, my Chemistry teacher, insisted on me going to see the nurse, but I brushed it off as nothing and I miraculously managed to make my way out of class before he could question me any further.

Licking his lips, Brinker quickly looks around before carefully taking my hand in his. He doesn’t do anything else. I’m thankful for that. I’m not one for public affection. And I don’t even like Brinker that way, so I wriggle my hand free, staring at my shoes the entire time because I didn’t want to see his reaction.

There’s an awkward beat of silence before I look up at him again, allowing a million more things to run through my head. For instance, why would Brinker even like me? I’m a mess. He said it himself, I have bags under my eyes and last I checked that wasn’t a particularly _attractive_ quality.

And then I think that Brinker _is_ attractive, with his chiseled face and broad shoulders, meaning that he can do so much better than a skinny boy like me. And probably any other person would be jumping for joy that someone like Brinker had taken an interest in them, but I still don’t feel _that_ way about him.

As if reading my thoughts, Brinker gives me a smile that’s not really a smile. “You know that you’re still welcome at my place,” he says, and I pretend not to notice the gloom in his voice. “If you’re not feeling well…I haven’t forgotten what you said about saying that someone should kill you, Gene.”

His words hit me like a punch in the stomach, but I do my best to not let it show on my face. Of course, it’s just in Brinker’s nature to be so blunt.

“I was just talking that day, Brinker. I was half asleep, too,” I defend. “I didn’t mean it…”

Brinker nods, reaching out to pat my shoulder. “Still, if you ever need someone to talk to I’ll be willing to listen.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

I’m drenched in sweat when I wake up, and I mistake the wet feeling all over me as blood. Because that’s what my nightmare was about. It was about being drenched in Phineas’ blood.

And I feel like it’s still _on_ me. It _must_ still be on me. My throat tightens, and I feel like I might scream.

But I don’t. Instead, I madly start scratching at my skin, pulling at my clothes. I’m gasping for air, never really feeling like I’m getting enough of it. And pretty soon I’m wheezing, panic swelling in my chest. Because I can’t get rid of it. Of that slimy feeling of blood on my skin.

“Gene?” It’s _his_ voice. Even though it’s dark in the room I know it is. I’d recognize it anywhere. I was just dreaming about his voice. He was yelling horrible things about me, all of which were true.

“Gene, are you okay?” Phineas says again, but this time it’s not from across the room. He’s in front of me now. His hands are grasping at my cheeks, and he keeps asking me what’s wrong. But then one of his hands comes to rest at the front of my neck, and I immediately spring away from him, my back hitting the wall so hard I cry out before crumpling to the floor. I thought he was going to choke me.

“Stop! I’m sorry!” I scream at Phineas. He’s perched at the edge of my bed, his hands raised slightly as if I’m some wild animal that he’s trying not to scare off. “I’m sorry!” I shout again, before shakily gathering myself up from the floor and staggering to the door.

“Where… _Gene_ , where are you going?” I hear Phineas ask.

I don’t answer him or even look back. Instead, I run to the showers, grateful that the late hour has the hallways completely empty as I hastily strip off my pants and t-shirt as I go until I’m only left in my underwear. I can still feel his blood on me and I _need_ to wash it off.

I burst into the bathroom, tripping but quickly recovering, and go into the first shower I see. And not caring if it’s too cold or too hot, I sloppily turn the water on and sit underneath it. It helps. It helps so much, but there’s still a faint want to scratch at my skin. I don’t though. I try to restrain myself, opting to close my eyes and tilt my head back, letting the water fall over me.

I’m still breathing heavy when I hear the door to the bathroom open, and I think of pulling the curtain closed so that whoever is here won’t find me. There are plenty of other showers in the room, so it’s a possibility that they might just walk past mine. But then I remember that my shower is the only one that’s on, so I actually won’t be difficult to locate.

Nevertheless, I try to wedge myself into the corner of the white-tiled walls and hug my legs in attempt to make myself smaller and seemingly invisible. It doesn’t help. The footsteps, which I realize belong to more than one person, come closer and soon enough I see Phineas and Brinker standing in front of me through the rain of water coming from the showerhead.

“Go away!” I shout, but my voice is too strained to sound intimidating. So I stare them down instead, hoping they’ll disappear. But they don’t. Their feet stay planted to floor as they look me over.

Suddenly, Brinker covers his mouth with his hand and makes a noise that sounds like a miserable cough, but Phineas still doesn’t move. He seems so frozen in place that I wonder if he’s even breathing. However, a moment later his stupor breaks and he’s nudging Brinker, telling him to go get a nurse _immediately_.

Brinker nods, looks at me, and then rushes out the door. And then it’s just me and Phineas. I wonder if he’s going to choose now to kill me. After all, there isn’t a witness anymore. Or maybe he’s just going to beat me to a pulp as his revenge. Yes, I decide. That’s probably it. That’s why he told Brinker to go get the nurse.

In the midst of my thinking, Phineas comes forward and sits next to me in the shower, apparently not minding if his pajamas get wet. The water must be cold because he’s shivering. And perhaps it’s too much for him because there are tears in his eyes. It reminds me of the night of the trial. He cried then, too.

The water is getting in Phineas’ hair, causing it to stick to his forehead in clumped strands, and I stare at the droplets that drip from the side of his soft jawline. His eyes are so intensely trained on me that I feel goosebumps on my skin rise.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Phineas tells me, his voice sounding so earnest that it throws me off. I must look incredibly confused because he tries to explain himself again. “Gene, please don’t be afraid.”

Phineas’ fingers touch mine tentatively. “I’m not going to hurt you, Gene. Do you believe me?” Swallowing, I watch his fingers as they start stroking calming and unpredictable patterns around the back of my hand. Somewhere in an unpopular corner of my mind, a voice tells me to be careful. He could be lying. It could be a trick. This might just be his plan: to get me relaxed before he takes a strike at me.

But a recklessly lenient part of my mind is also telling me that Phineas wouldn’t do that because he’s too kindhearted. But then there’s also the raging doubt, and suddenly it’s too much and without much thought I hurriedly whisper, “Yes, I believe you.”

Phineas is hugging me a second later, somehow taking most of my body into his arms, and I instantly start sobbing brokenly into his shoulder, not even bothering to fight him. He’s so warm compared to the frigid water and I curl in closer against his chest. I think his heart is beating as fast as mine.

I can’t help but feel that this doesn’t make any sense. Because I feel safe in the arms of my living nightmare. I’m a crying vulnerable slop of a person and it should be easy for him to be a nightmare now, but he’s not. He’s more like a dream, like an angel. Someone sent to watch over me, to hold me. But that doesn’t make sense because I feel like I’m being slaughtered by him and sheltered by him at the same time. And in that moment, I realize how insane I am.

Meanwhile, Phineas is swaying me like I’m a baby, whispering soothing words into the damp skin of my neck. It’s enough to make me believe that he truly doesn’t want to hurt me. He’s not lying. Not two-faced as I so believed. He’s not a nightmare, at least not in real life.

My vision is so uselessly blurry with tears that I close my eyes, and all I can feel are Phineas’ lips moving against my ear. All I can hear is Phineas murmuring sweet promises to me. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve got you, Gene. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

And suddenly, I let the last bit of my energy wash away with his blood. I feel clean. And with his hand gently brushing up and down my back, I let myself fall asleep again.

But this time I don’t dream of anything.

***

The nurse is the first person I see when I wake up.

I squint at her, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. She’s calmly packing a few things (bandages, I think?) away in drawers, chatting about how cold it is this time of year, her grandkids, and how she’s going to start heading home. For a moment, I think that she’s talking to me, but then I hear footsteps by my bedside. And then I hear _his_ voice.

“Surely, Mrs. Jones,” Phineas says, his voice sounding like silk. I don’t realize how calming it sounds until I feel myself breathing out softly, my headache miraculously losing some of its pressure. Which is ridiculous because all he did was _talk._

“I was just hoping that Gene was going to wake up today,” he continues, and I notice that his voice is getting farther away as if he’s leaving. “But you say that it’s normal, right? If he doesn’t wake up today, that’s okay. He’ll be alright.” Phineas sounds so hopeful, as if he wants to definitely believe his own words but still needs some reassurance.

And the way he sounds concerned… I’ve heard Phineas sound concerned about things before, like when he was trying really hard to understand a novel we were reading in English but couldn’t. Or when he was upset about the war. However, he seems much more worried right now. And I dare to believe that it’s because of me. That he’s worried about me.

“I’m sure he’ll wake up tomorrow,” Mrs. Jones says, turning to me and I quickly close my eyes. I don’t really know why I do it. I just felt like I was eavesdropping, and if she noticed I was awake it would have been strange.

“He probably just hasn’t been sleeping enough. But when Mr. Forrester does rejoin us, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know. He can’t seem to stop mumbling your name in his sleep.”

What?! “He does?” Phineas asks incredulously. I feel like getting up and objecting but I’m too shocked to move. Too _mortified_.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jones states, as if it were a well-known fact. “Anyway, I need to be leaving now. Visiting hours ended at six and I’ve already let you stay an extra 15 minutes.”

There’s the sound of a door closing, some muffled speech, and then nothing. I allow myself to open my eyes then, slowly examining the IV positioned in my forearm before turning towards the large window by my bed.

There’s a stunning, fading sunset outside. A few shades of pink and orange are peaking over the horizon. Still, it’s going to be dark soon and everyone is going to be settling in for bed. I should too, probably.

But after tossing and turning for the next couple of hours, the task seems absolutely hopeless. I end up staring straight up at the ceiling, my mind running away with a thousand thoughts. Most of them including Phineas, good ones and bad ones. But mostly good ones. I start to imagine what it would be like to have him here. Would he help me fall asleep? He did last time.

I almost think I’m hallucinating again when I see Phineas opening up my window, gingerly pushing up the glass as if he were afraid it would shatter if he hurried his movements. He doesn’t notice that I’m awake until his feet hit the ground and I gasp, finally allowing myself to believe that he’s actually real.

I guess that scares him, being that he accidently knocks over an alarm clock on the nightstand, causing the little bells to ring momentarily before Phineas picks it up again and makes it stop. “Gene?” he whispers. I don’t know why he bothers. He’s already made a rather loud entrance to begin with.

I groan, pretending that I have just woken up, and slowly sit up in my bed. “Phineas?” I ask, bewildered, which I don’t have to pretend to do. I really am surprised that he’s here.

“Oh, my god!” Phineas exclaims, rushing up to my bed and throwing his arms around me in a tight embrace. It’s in that painful moment that I realize that I’m in nothing but a hospital gown and underwear, and I’m instantly thankful that the room is a bit dark so that Phineas can’t see me blushing.

“I was so worried,” Phineas mumbles into my shoulder. “It’s really crazy and reversed, you know. How now you’re the one in the infirmary.” The realization suddenly hits me too, and I gently push him away. Because it reminds of the night that I went to visit him in the infirmary after he fell down the stairs. How he screamed at me to get out. And how he sometimes has nightmares about me, and I know this because I share a room with him and I’m not the only one who mumbles things in their sleep.

Phineas’ head tilts to the side, a frightened look passing over his face. “Gene?” He looks kind of beautiful and kind of sad when he says my name like that, and I hate it. “Did I do something wrong?” That snaps me out of my daze. The fact that Phineas thinks _he’s_ the one who’s done something wrong is absurd, and, actually, I hate that more.

“No,” I tell him sincerely. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just…” I don’t know how to explain it, and I try to grasp for words. “Well, you…” _C’mon, Gene. You’re not going to get anywhere at this rate._

“You’re like a living ghost to me, Phineas!” I blurt out.

Phineas’ mouth is hanging open a little, and my stomach turns. “And it’s strange,” I continue, my hands shaking. “It’s so strange because you’re supposed to be _dead_. That’s how you are in my dreams anyway, but somehow you’re not. But you should be and it’s _my fault_ that you should be and—”

“Gene,” Phineas says sternly. He’s taken a hold of my wrists, effectively stopping my rant. His eyes lock with mine and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Phineas more determined. “I’m not dead.”

“I—I know.”

“And it’s not your fault whether I’m alive or not.”

I immediately want to protest but Phineas stops me, lightly placing a finger to my mouth. It makes me woozy, and I feel like kicking myself when a soft gasp escapes me.

“Brinker told me that you haven’t been feeling well, lately,” Phineas says, a little uncomfortable. His finger falls away, trusting me not to speak over him. “And he told me about how you think it’s your fault that I got hurt on the tree. And maybe, it’s my fault that you keep thinking that way because I know I have nightmares, too. About you…” Phineas pauses to bite his lip, as if silencing an unnecessary thought. And I can’t take the idea that he thinks it might be his fault again.

“Phineas, please don’t think—”

“Call me Finny,” he interrupts. “Like you _used_ to. Enough of this ‘Phineas’ nonsense.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Say it.”

“Finny,” I say, my voice slow and gentle. Because that’s the way people should say his name. Because he is a kind and perfect boy.

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” Finny asks, his voice watery. It breaks my heart and I answer right away.

“Yes.”

“And you wouldn’t hurt me, right?” The thought of Finny hurt again makes me feel so sick that I contemplate running to the bathroom to hurl. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” I say, my voice tense. I feel tears pricking at my eyes. Only Finny can make me this much of a mess.

I stare at him, standing by my bedside, looking so lost and wounded. He warily steps forward to me, placing his hand on the edge of the mattress to support his weight as he bends over to wipe away my stray tears with his free hand. The entire time I can’t stop looking at him, and I almost laugh about it. About how broken this is. He’s hurting but he’s _still_ helping me.

He doesn’t move away, even when there aren’t any more tears to clean. His thumb just keeps brushing up and down my cheek. I close my eyes, and I think that Finny must have some sort of magic to him. I think of the other night when he helped calm me down, how his touches were soothing then too.

I can feel him coming closer, and it makes my heartbeat pick up. Even more so when I feel his breath on the side of my face, and it’s so unfair. How easily I can begin to fall apart because of him.

“One last question?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine as he talks. “Do you love me?”

I sit up, catching his lips with mine, and I think that’s an answer in itself.

The whole thing starts off innocent enough, just lingering and gentle presses of lips. But then Finny’s kisses become insistent, as if he’s trying to prove something. And I want to let him know that I understand, that I trust him, so I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down on top of me, kissing him hard.

He’s in between my legs now, his tongue sliding against the roof of my mouth, and when his groin comes too close to mine, I groan out loud and it’s embarrassing. “Finny,” I whisper against his neck. He’s peppering kisses down my collarbone, and when he shifts positions, his thigh brushes my groin, and I have to bite the side of my cheek to keep myself from making more humiliating noises.

I can’t think straight or about anything really. It isn’t until Finny’s’ hand goes under my hospital gown and I feel a sharp sting in my forearm that I tell him to stop. Phineas jumps back, his dilated green eyes wide with fear. “Sorry, I—I should’ve asked. Um…”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, sweeping some hair away from his eyes. He breathes out, nodding, before his body relaxes on top of mine again. And then I show him the IV needle that had been yanked out of place from my forearm. It must have gotten tangled between…well whatever it was we were doing.

“I guess it serves us right for doing what _traditionally_ isn’t done on infirmary beds,” I smile. And it earns a nervous laugh from Finny. The sound makes something bloom within my chest.

“You started it,” Finny points out, before swooping down to kiss my cheek. I shake my head at how childish the excuse sounds but I guess it’s true. “I’m glad you did though. I was beginning to think that you liked Brinker.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Because Brinker told me he kissed you.” Of course.

I lace my fingers with Finny’s, reaching up to place a kiss on his nose. “He did, but I never kissed him back. And that only happened once.”

“Oh.”

“I promise you have nothing to worry about,” I tell him with confidence.

Finny’s fingers grip mine tighter. “Thank god.” And this time it’s my turn to laugh.

After a while of more kissing, Finny curls in closer against my chest, telling me that he should probably let me get some sleep. And somehow, his consideration makes me love him even more.

“The nurse is going to have a fit when she finds us in the morning,” I murmur to Finny, not knowing if he’s asleep yet. But then I hear him laugh against my ear. “Don’t worry,” he says, kissing the back of neck. “It’s nothing I can’t talk my way out of.”

And despite the prospects that the morning may bring, I fall asleep feeling completely safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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